


Happy New Year

by Ryellee



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Fireworks, Gen, No Beta We Cry Like Men, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i wrote that on new year's eve but edited on january 1st after Not Sleeping and boy was that a ride, mild descriptions of violence and battle so i chose to apply the warning, they are a legit fireteam okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryellee/pseuds/Ryellee
Summary: Everything is makeshift here at their campsite on Europa: weapons, plans, food, traditions, friendship.
Relationships: The Drifter & Eris Morn, The Drifter & Eris Morn & Elsie Bray
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Happy New Year

“I hoped to see the new year behind the City’s walls once more,” Elsie says, rubbing her palms together above the campfire for warmth. It makes Drifter wonder idly whether Exos even need to keep warm, or is it just a luxury, like sleep for Lightbearers—one step further away from humanity, mindlessly taken by many in the name of convenience. But that’s the thing about Exos, right? The need to feign humanity so furiously, least their brains collapse on themselves.

“New year’s just a concept.” He does not verbalise the thought, just shrugs and pokes the fire with a piece of pipe they have found laying around the campsite. The flames spring out higher and Elsie withdraws her hands to avoid them. “A made-up reason to relieve the sad, lonely life.”

“You’re always fun to be around.”

“No one’s keeping you here by force, you know.”

They are huddled by the fire, three hooded figures encircling a patch of warmth in the pervasive cold. Eris is furthest away, staring into the darkness with an unreadable expression, and her hands fiddle with the edge of her scarf. Drifter and Elsie sit by her two sides, both masterfully avoiding each other’s glances, and Drifter’s Ghost hovers over his shoulder; its red optics sweeps over the area cautiously.

“Before the walls had been built,” Elsie starts, ignoring his retort, “I was in the City for the new year, once. And people were shooting fireworks. I remembered those from my childhood, but they were even more beautiful than back in the day. I heard the City’s Warlocks figured out a way to make them using void grenades.”

“Your boss allows for that?” Drifter chuckles, pulling a jade coin out of nowhere and flipping it with a ding. “Hey Moondust, what’s that rocket launcher you made that does this cool stuff with void, where it splits and—”

“I did not make it. It is an embodiment of the deathsong.”

“Yeah, sure, and you never tried shooting things with it just for fun? What d’you do on that moon every year—got no useless traditions like us lowly folks?”

The question stings, if only a little. Useless traditions, Eris thinks, with bitterness growing on her tongue; roaring storms of colour tumbling overhead, the din in her ears—pressing on her sinuses—as the sky sets on fire and explodes into a million pieces, tearing open and bleeding light.

She used to love that ecstatic chaos, standing in a singing crowd with trembling hands, pouring champagne over her shoes, staring with that primordial fascination at the ungraspable beauty of the skies alight. The memory of that thrill only infuriates her, because she no longer can, because she has seen the real storm and real fire, she has seen the sky torn apart and bleeding, and the crowds were screaming but there was no champagne and no stars, only the blood on her hands and the smouldered remains all around her, and her head heavy from the explosion that killed ten of them before they had got a chance to crawl for cover.

Fear, it enrages her; how it only takes and takes and takes, how she can no longer love what she used to and must cower away from any joy it once brought. How everyone she used to enjoy it with are gone, and every erupting star reminds her of the emptiness, of the space where their hands used to be for her to reach out.

“Lights and noise. And screaming people.” She says dryly and looks away. “Too many screaming people.”

Drifter narrows his eyes, and Eris tenses up, readying herself to counter any oncoming remark, but he only frowns, then stands up and heads to the cabin.

“Hey, I’mma rummage through your stuff.”

“No—” Eris starts, but the door have already shut. There is a small chuckle coming from Elsie, cut off by the murderous stare of three glowing eyes.

He jumps out after a solid minute, a few Cursed Thrall’s heads in his hands, pulsating sickly green in the darkness. He throws one up and follows by a shot from his cannon, and the explosion echoes through the glacial mesa for miles.

“You’re gross!” Elsie snaps, cowering to avoid the flesh and chitin raining down. Drifter just laughs and throws another one.

“When I assume you cannot be any more ludicrous, you never fail to prove me wrong,” Eris says, but there is no edge to her voice, and she stares at the Thrall heads erupting in the sky, unwavering. The makeshift fireworks light the campsite with flashes of green, and the remains scattered on the snow emit a gentle glow long after the eruption.

Drifter blows up the last head and plops back next to the fire, grinning like a kid who just stole a candy from the store. “Happy new year, nerds.”

Eris rolls her eyes, but the quivering of her lips betrays the held-back smile.

“Happy new year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a New Year ficlet that popped up in my brain while I was washing my hands, probably. (Why do I always come up with ideas when I do that?) I could write volumes about these three ~~(mostly these two but you get the drift)~~ and it's about time someone made use of those damn Cursed Thralls.


End file.
